Homecoming
by theothersusan
Summary: Home isn't always a place.


I find myself stopping at the foot of the walk, staring at my own townhouse like I've never seen it before. Because I haven't, not like this. I'm used to leaving for work in the dark and coming home in the dark, and in the two and a half years I've lived here the only light I've ever left on is the one by the front door. But tonight the whole downstairs is lit up, golden light spilling out into the night from behind every blind and curtain. I almost don't recognize the place. This house looks cheerful and welcoming, as if it's been waiting for me to come home.

I shake off my flight of fancy and start up the walk. Of course the house hasn't been waiting for me. But Laura has, and the sooner I get inside the house the sooner I'll be with her again. I swear this has been the longest afternoon of my entire life. Because as much as I would have loved to cancel all my appointments and spend it with Laura, I couldn't. The holidays are a difficult time for a lot of people, and I couldn't in good conscience just bail on my patients.

But God, I wanted to. Especially after Laura came by my office to tell me that her meeting with the committee had gone well. I had exactly eleven minutes before my next appointment, and we spent ten of them wrapped around each other kissing like there was no tomorrow. I knew I had to let her go, but I didn't think I could stand it if I didn't know for sure that I was going to see her again soon.

So I pulled my house keys out of my pocket and pressed them into her hand and asked her if she would be willing to be here when I got home tonight. And she gave me that smile that absolutely melts my heart and asked whether she could just come on over. So I spent the afternoon at work, doing my damndest to actually concentrate on what my patients were saying, knowing all the while that Laura was here in my house waiting for me.

Did I mention that it was the longest afternoon of my life?

But I'm finally home now, to a house that actually _feels_ like a home for the first time, and I realize with some amusement that I'm going to have to ring the doorbell, because Laura has my keys. Then the door flies open, spilling warmth and light and the delicious scent of fresh-baked bread out over the stoop, and Laura is there with her arms around me.

"Welcome home," she says, and turns her face up to mine for a kiss.

She tastes of savory food and red wine and sheer joy, and I could happily stand right here and kiss her for the rest of eternity if I didn't think the neighbors might talk. Laura seems fairly intent on getting me all the way into the house, though, and I let myself be pulled until there's finally enough room to get the door closed behind us. She reaches past me to lock it, then presses me back against it to kiss me some more. I do believe she's missed me as much as I've missed her.

The sound of a timer going off in the kitchen eventually drags us back to reality, and we draw apart a little. "I need to go rescue the, uhm...bread, I think," Laura says apologetically.

"Did you actually _make_ bread?" I ask, peeling off my overcoat and hanging it on one of the hooks beside the door, noting with pleasure that Laura's coat looks right at home on the next hook over.

"Yes." She takes my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. "It was that or pace a trench in your floor."

"Bread sound like the tastier option."

"One hopes," she answers, laughing, and lets me go so that she can use both hands to take the bread out of the wall oven.

I wander over to the rangetop and carefully lift the heavy lid of the Dutch oven. "Did someone tell you beef bourguignon is my favorite, or are you just psychic?"

"Much as I'd like to let you believe that I have Jedi powers of my own, I actually picked Edna's brain as I left your office earlier."

Edna is my secretary-she still turns up her nose at the more politically correct _administrative assistant_ -and she's taken to Laura like a duck to water, which is impressive as hell because Edna is…well, hard to impress. She's worked at GH since Lyndon B. Johnson was in the White House, and she's seen it all, most of it more than once. I didn't even think she liked me all that much until Lucy got up the nerve to come by my office a few days after the ugly incident at the Nurses' Ball. I was on my lunch break at the time, so I missed the fireworks, but Edna apparently chased Lucy out into the hallway and told her in no uncertain terms where she could take her lying, cheating, faithless self. It still kills me that no one got a video.

"When you and Edna take over the hospital entirely, can I still work there?"

Laura laughs. "Considering that we both adore you? I'd say that's a pretty safe bet, yes." She drops the oven mitts on the counter and turns to face me. "Now, you have a very important decision to make here, so think carefully: Do you want to eat dinner now and work it off later or work up an appetite now and eat dinner later?"

Does she really think I'm going to have to think about that one? "Appetite now, dinner later."

"Good answer."

I cut the burner down to a low simmer while Laura makes sure the oven is off, and then we take each other's hands again and leave the kitchen. I'm a little surprised when she nudges me toward the living room instead of heading for the stairs, but I'm good with whatever she has in mind. Which becomes a little clearer when she pauses to turn off the overhead lights, and I realize that the fireplace is lit. I must look as astonished as I feel, because Laura looks suddenly amused.

"You _did_ know you had a fireplace, right?"

"Of course I did. I just don't use it much." Ever, actually-I don't think I've lit the thing since I checked the gas logs before I bought the house.

"Do you not like it?" she asks uncertainly.

"No. I mean yes. That is-" _Use your words, Collins._ "I just never much cared for the notion of sitting in front of the fire alone."

Laura's expression clears, morphing into a smile. "Problem solved, then. Because you're not alone, and sitting isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Oh, really? Maybe you better tell me what you did have in mind."

"Just tell you?" she asks innocently.

"Or you could show me," I amend, because that sounds like an even better plan.

She leads me over to the couch that faces the fireplace, the one I never actually sit on. I didn't even want this couch-it's ridiculously gigantic-but Mac insisted on "helping" me furnish this place when I moved in, and it was easier to buy the couch than it was to argue with him. He was muttering something about fireplaces and bachelor pads, and I just wanted to get out of the furniture store.

But two and a half years after the fact, I finally understand his enthusiasm. Because if you're going to have sex on a couch? This is the couch you want. A fact that Laura apparently apprehended immediately, since she's already brought down blankets and pillows and made us a comfortable little nest here in front of the fire.

She reaches up to run her fingers through my hair, and I flash back for a moment to the very first time she ever did that, to that night in my hotel room when I was so torn between wanting her to be sure and just plain wanting her. Tonight there's no question that she's sure, or that the wanting is mutual, and I love the little sound she makes when I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.

"I think I'm beginning to get the idea," I say. "Did this plan of yours by any chance involve less clothing?"

"You're catching on," she answers, and reaches for the top button of my shirt.

We begin to undress each other, taking our time about it and pausing every so often to kiss some more. I don't want to rush this, not tonight, and I'm glad that Laura seems content to take it slowly as well. It's been a long time since I was this happy, and I want to savor every moment. Which isn't difficult to do, because Laura is a feast for the senses, soft and warm and breathtakingly beautiful.

The couch proves quite comfortable, too, when we get to that point, roomy enough for the two of us to thoroughly entangle ourselves without any danger of anyone ending up on the floor. Laura is suddenly talkative tonight, her voice a breathy whisper against my skin as she tells me how good my touch feels and how she spent the entire afternoon fantasizing about the two of us making love in the firelight. It's a good thing I didn't know that at the time-I was having a hard enough time concentrating as it was-but it's a hell of a turn-on now.

And it's not difficult to coax her into describing her fantasies in a little more detail, not when we're pressed together and touching as we are. I file a couple of things away for future reference and put a few others into immediate practice, with such gratifying results that it's probably a good thing there are several walls between us and my neighbors. Not that _I_ would mind if all of Port Charles could hear Laura screaming my name in ecstasy, but she might not feel the same.

We're a fantastic mess by the end of it, sweat-sheened and sticky and probably well on our way to being glued together, and I love that none of that seems to bother Laura in the slightest. She's sprawled over my chest with her face buried in my neck, and I can feel her relaxing toward sleep. I wait until her muscles go completely slack, then flip the other half of the blanket off the back of the couch to cover us.

She makes a tiny sound and settles right back into slumber, confirming my suspicion that she's exhausted. The news about Lulu and Charlotte hasn't been easy for her to take in, and I doubt she's slept much the past couple of nights. I don't know for sure because she hasn't stayed with me, though I've tried not to take that too personally. I can't _make_ her accept my comfort. But I do hope that after today she may be more open to letting me be here for her.

I'm tired, too, but I don't want to sleep, not when I can lie here and feel Laura's breathing and watch the firelight dance across the highlights in her hair and hear her voice in my mind. _I love you. I really love you._ She has no idea how much she surprised me with that. I thought...okay, I hoped...that she felt it, but I didn't think she was ready to say it. I didn't even think she'd been ready to hear it when I blurted it out.

But that's Laura, I'm coming to realize. Always doing the last thing I expect. Not for the shock value (she's not Lucy, praise be to God) but because once she makes up her mind, she's all in. No dithering, no dramatics, just that fearless jump-with-both-feet determination that makes her who she is. And I won't lie, sometimes it scares the hell out of me. Watching her fling herself at Valentin Cassadine and his loaded gun nearly did me in even _before_ I got shot.

Other times, though...other times it just fills me with wonder. She's been through hell, this woman. By all rights she should be a bitter, angry, timid, joyless shell of a human being. And instead she's this vivacious, passionate, forgiving survivor with a seemingly depthless capacity to love and be loved. I am awestruck by her resilience.

I'm also inspired by it. Because the more I got to know Laura, the more ridiculous it seemed to keep carting around my own load of bitterness and anger and resentment. Watching her live her life so fearlessly made me take a long, hard look in the mirror, and for the first time I could see that cutting myself off from everyone didn't just keep me from getting hurt. It kept me from feeling anything. No risk and no pain also meant no love, no joy, no connection.

The thought of loving Laura terrified me. But the thought of losing her terrified me even more. So I bought myself a last-minute ticket to Greece, and five months later I can honestly say I wouldn't change a thing. Not even the bullet. _Especially_ not the bullet, because I really don't want to think about how that moment would have turned out if I hadn't been there. Valentin can claim whatever he wants, but that gun was aimed at Laura's head.

My arm tightens reflexively around her, and she stirs, raising up to blink at me. "Kevin?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Twenty minutes, give or take."

She smiles and stretches. "A perfect cat nap."

"Are you ready to be up, then?"

"Well, we _did_ work up an appetite."

I chuckle and follow her up as she levers herself to a sitting position. "Let's get cleaned up and have dinner, then."

I let Laura have the bathroom first, and by the time I emerge from my own turn she's back in the kitchen adding sauteed mushrooms to the beef bourguignon. She looks very at home in my kitchen, in fact, puttering around in her pajama pants and oversized t-shirt.

"I forgot to ask whether I should dress for dinner," I say from the doorway, "so I'm relieved to see it's not black tie."

She glances down at herself and bites her lip, looking sheepish. "I didn't really think about it."

"Good. As you can see, neither did I." My own sweatpants and undershirt are hardly formalwear.

"Yes, but it's your house," she points out, returning to her stirring.

The Universe gives me a little nudge. I'm slowly getting better at picking up subtle cues, and thankfully it doesn't have to hit me over the head with a two-by-four anymore.

"Speaking of that, actually…" I cross to remove the little hardware store envelope from the front of the drawer beside the coffee maker. "This is for you."

She's obviously puzzled, but she gamely holds out her hand, and instead of just handing her the envelope I tip it and let its contents slide into her palm. Time slows. Laura looks at the key in her hand, glances toward the front door, looks at me.

"You don't have to use it if you don't want to," I say quietly. "But I want you to have it. And I want you to know that you are welcome here anytime, day or night, whether I'm here or not. You don't have to ask permission or call ahead or ring the doorbell. Just come on in and make yourself at home."

Her eyes fill with tears. "Kevin…"

"Please?"

She stares at me for another moment, then looks down, her fingers curling tightly around the key. "You'll have to help me put it on my keyring. I can never get the stupid thing open."

I let myself smile at the top of her head. "Would you like me to do that now?"

Laura nods without looking up and holds the key out to me. "My purse is on the table in the front hall."

I step out and busy myself with the simple task a little longer than strictly necessary, giving her a couple of minutes to compose herself. Laura seems to have a very complicated set of rules about when it is and isn't okay to cry, and I don't have to understand them to respect them.

"Mission accomplished," I say simply when I step back into the kitchen. "Should I set the table?"

"That would be good, yes," she answers, and shoots me a grateful little smile. "This is almost ready."

Dinner is delicious, and I compliment the cook until she threatens me with a wooden spoon if I don't stop. The joking threat of bodily harm aside, it's a perfect meal, good food and the very best of company.

"Can you stay tonight?" I ask as we're clearing the table, and try very hard not to look as if I'm holding my breath.

But Laura doesn't hesitate. "Yes. I already told Lulu not to expect me back until sometime tomorrow."

"Good. I like the thought of being the first person to get to wish you happy birthday."

Laura turns to give me an astonished look. "You know tomorrow's my birthday? I mean, you do, obviously, but...how?"

"You told me."

"I did?"

"Mm-hmm. Back in June. We had breakfast together on the summer solstice, and when I mentioned that it was the longest day of the year, you told me you were born on the shortest day of the year."

She's still staring at me like I've pulled a live rabbit out of my ear, and now I'm wondering whether I've somehow made her uncomfortable.

"Do you not like for people to make a big deal of your birthday?"

"No, no," she says quickly. "It's not that. I'm just surprised. That was six months ago, and it was an offhand comment, and...you remembered."

"Of course I remembered. It's important."

She tears up again, but this time she doesn't look away. "Being here with you is already the best birthday present I could've imagined."

I open my arms to her, and she comes into them and lays her head on my shoulder. "I love you," I murmur against her hair.

"I love you, too," she whispers back, and hugs me tightly.

We clean up the kitchen-Laura refuses to let me do the washing up by myself even though she cooked-and return to the living room to sit in front of the fire again, this time on the floor. Well, on a couple of cushions on the floor, hardwood being a rather unforgiving surface. I brace my back against the couch, and Laura sits down between my upraised knees and tentatively leans back against me.

"Is this okay?"

I wrap my arms around her and draw her back a little more firmly against my chest. "This is perfect."

She relaxes, laying her head back against my shoulder, and wraps her arms over mine. We sit like that for a while in peaceful silence, enjoying the fire and each other, until finally Laura speaks again.

"What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?"

"I don't. I took the day off." Monica wasn't pleased, but I was determined and willing to bargain, and that's how I somehow ended up scheduled to work a twelve-hour shift on Christmas Eve.

Laura turns her head to look at me and hesitantly murmurs, "Because of me?"

"Because it's your birthday, yes."

"Really?" She looks like a little kid on Christmas morning, and the bargaining was definitely worth it. "Did you make some sort of plans, or…?"

"Well, you're definitely getting breakfast in bed, but after that I'm open to suggestions."

"What if I just don't want to let you out of bed the whole day?"

"Wow, are you sure it's your birthday and not mine?"

She laughs, then turns serious again. "Is it okay if I don't want to go anywhere?"

"Sure."

"Because I think what I'd really like is to just have you to myself."

"I'm definitely not going to complain about that."

She starts to say something else, but it gets swallowed up in a jaw-cracking yawn.

"I think that might be our cue to head to bed," I suggest.

Laura smiles sheepishly. "I am pretty tired."

So we go upstairs and take turns in the bathroom again-Laura insists that I go first this time since her nighttime routine is probably a little more involved than mine-and when I lie down it occurs to me that for the first time we're going to bed together without the immediate intention of making love. That she's going to come lie down beside me and fall asleep here in my house and in my bed and in my arms, and there doesn't need to be any _reason_ for that to happen. And that barring some unforeseen emergency, neither of us is going to jump up and rush off to anywhere in the morning.

Laura emerges from the bathroom wearing her glasses, which I have seen exactly once before tonight. That time she felt compelled to explain them-apparently she's literally too nearsighted to walk around without either her contacts or her glasses and not fall over furniture-but tonight she seems to take it as read that I've seen the glasses and they're not going to run me off. I think she looks quite adorable in them, actually, but I have better sense than to say that to Laura.

She's also carrying her phone, which is ominous until she says, "I'm turning this thing off. I texted Lulu and told her to call you if there's an emergency, because it would probably take something closer to the actual dictionary definition of an emergency for her to bother you. Is that alright?"

"Of course." I've noticed that Lulu seems to think nothing of calling Laura at all hours for completely random reasons, and as a psychiatrist I have some theories as to why that might be, but it's hardly my place to comment.

Laura looks relieved, and drops her turned-off phone on the bedside table on what I've already begun to think of as her side of the bed. She takes off her pajama pants and crawls into bed in just the long t-shirt, then rolls back to set her glasses next to her phone before sliding closer to me and settling down.

We kiss goodnight, long and slow and leisurely, and then finally I roll away to turn off the lamp. "We'll have to get you a lamp for your side, too," I say without thinking.

There is a brief pause, and then Laura simply says, "Okay."

We find each other in the darkness, our hands curling together in the small space between us, and settle down to sleep. Laura is out almost immediately, and I'm not far behind. I've done my own share of worrying instead of sleeping the past few nights. But I'm not worried now.

I'm happy, and that happiness follows me down into sleep, where pleasant dreams await me. Unsurprisingly, Laura is in all of them.


End file.
